Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stiles has had fantasies of nameless, faceless blondes in his bed before, mostly in his tween-age years and only in between fantasies of one specific strawberry-blond goddess.

He has a healthy imagination, sue him.

But his fantasies never included waking up to a mouthful of curly hair smothering his face, a knee pressed dangerously close to his balls (especially when the said knee was attached to a notoriously known sleep-kicker), and feeling like the wicked witch of the west after a shower.

Groaning, attempting to get the bodies plastered to either side of him to shift away even minisculely, Stiles stretches out and elbows someone in the face in the process. Judging by the growling vibration on his back, it was the male blond.

“I don’t know why I bother getting the extra mattress out anymore,” Stiles complains, voice still raspy from sleep.

“I don’t either,” Erica snarks back, apparently awake and ready for a fight while her head remains buried right under Stiles’ chin. To add salt to the wound, she moves closer even though he’s not sure how that’s physically possible at this point, and now he has another knee dangerously close to his junk. He feels her smirk across his collar bone.

There’s really nothing he can do but sigh and roll his eyes for good measure hoping that his preformed annoyance leaks into his scent and drives the wolves off him. “Where are your other halves?” Stiles asks.

“Please don’t call Ethan my other half,” Aiden grunts out with his face still tucked between the back of Stiles’ neck and the pillow they are sharing.

Aiden’s never been a morning person. That’s something the whole pack learned within the first week of the twins joining their ragtag team of misfits. After a near death match level battle royale one sunny Saturday morning at six a.m. sharp, it was decided that training could wait until at least after nine for everybody’s sake.

Erica pries her head away from Stiles’ neck, thankfully removing the hair from his mouth as well, to look him in the eye when she spoke again. “Boyd and Ethan are making breakfast. And you aren’t allowed to help.”

“Oh?” Stiles utters. “Why’s that?”

“Mommies deserve breakfast in bed as their presents.” She says right on cue for the two mentioned wolves to burst through the bedroom door.

Both larger male Werewolves have trays of food in hand with plates stacked full of eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, cups of fruit, and waffles (the superior pancake, and Stiles will die on that hill). The trays get placed around Stiles’ reach on the bed as Erica and Aiden free him from cuddle confinement so ‘within reach’ can actually be possible.

Ethan manages to make enough room for himself at the end of the bed after all the food is settled.

Boyd, bless him, actually sits on the spare mattress layin on the floor right next to Stiles’ bed. He props both his arms on the bed the rest of them are seated on, leaning forward enough to brush up against Erica’s back.

Stiles slowly sits up to inspect the offering laid out before him suspiciously. It’s less likely to be poisoned since he knows that Aiden and Erica had no part in making it, but there’s still a chance.

“Merry Christmas, Packmom,” Erica laughs and places a big exaggerated kiss onto his cheek. In a more touching display, she gently runs her nose down his jaw before backing away again.

“Merry Crisis, my executioner,” Aiden says. It’s a morbid joke, but it’s an ongoing one that seems to occur without rhyme or reason. Aiden and Stiles constantly poke fun at the fact that Stiles was nearly responsible for making Ethan a sole survivor. Stiles doesn’t know why the edger twin started it, but it helps in a twisted way. Makes it feel less heavy on his shoulders that the actual victim makes a gag out of the whole thing.

“Merry Christmas, mom,” Ethan says with his own little smirk. He pats affectionately at the human’s leg though. The almost eighteen-year-old bounces happily on the springs, looking like a kid excited for Christmas. Which, okay, that tracks in Stiles’ brain. The Steiner twins didn’t exactly have happy family holidays in their past. Honestly, living in the Stilinski’s extra bedroom for the past seven months has probably been the most stable and nonviolent time in their lives. So Stiles can’t really fault him for being animated.

“Merry Christmas,” Boyd, yet again bless him, says like a normal person. He reaches across Erica’s lap to run his knuckles along Stiles’ arm, a very clear and deliberate way of scenting the human.

“Thank you, guys,” Stiles says in a light, unbelieving tone. No one has ever done this type of thing for him. He’s normally at least one of the cooks at pack nights. “This means a lot. Really. But I’m not doing the dishes left behind.” He warns with an added bit of sarcasm to his sincerity.

“That’s Erica and Aiden’s job,” Boyd says tonelessly. Both blondes groan as if already in pain but don’t protest the fact.

Stiles huffs at the antics, shaking his head a little, then stares back at the display pulled right off the Food Network screen. He must be taking too long just admiring the meal and the gesture of it because Ethan clears his throat suddenly, anxiously, and Erica uses a single meticulously manicured finger to push the plate of bacon to the edge of the tray closest to Stiles.

“What time is it, by the way, you unruly children?” Stiles asks as he bites into the perfectly crispy bacon.

The four wolves smile in satisfaction when he moans at the deliciously fatty taste. Sue him, he’s been eating turkey bacon in solidarity with his dad for the past seven years.

“It’s just past eleven,” Boyd informs him. The larger boy hesitantly takes a piece of toast off the plate only becoming less hesitant when Stiles pushes the plate closer to his hand. In a grander gesture, he waves a dismissive hand to the rest of the plates as a signal for them all to eat.

The wolves begin to reach for some of the food as well after Stiles’ approval, each of them waiting to see what he takes next before they steal their next bite.

But Stiles stops mid-chew at the announcement of the time.

“What?” He screeches. Ignoring how they all flinch at his abrupt pitch, he never said he was a good mother, he continues. “We’re supposed to be at the loft at noon! Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Because you never sleep enough.”

“Because we want you to eat.”

“Because you sacrificed enough for us, it’s time someone did something for you.”

“Because fuck Scott and Derek.”

And those . . . are all somewhat valid points, even if some are a bit more sentimental than others.

“Can’t we just invite our people over here?” Ethan whines and shovels a forkful of eggs into his mouth like a pouty child.

Our people.

Stiles knows what the passive boy is talking about. The people that tend to drift to the Stilinski household on any other day, the people that check each other first after every battle, the people who feel most like pack. Unfortunately, this does not include all of the Beacon Hills pack.

“No, and you know we can’t,” Stiles stresses. He can’t be the one to blame for the pack missing out on such a momentous occasion- the first united pack holiday. Stiles knows he’s already on thin fucking ice lately with both Alphas. There can’t be any more reasons to divide them.

“We need to at least try and get along with everyone. Bridges get built both ways. There has to be an effort, and if you all are going to call me mom then I’m using my parental power to command you to be the ones making the effort. We’ve all survived a lot,” he swallows thickly, knowing how true those words ring in this room. The moment of pause allows each of the wolves to mourn just a little, mourn what they have lost along the way to where they are now. Everyone should mourn themselves now and then. “We can’t let this, this of all things, be our downfall. I won’t let that be the end of us, okay? I won’t let you guys fall now.”

When he manages to look up again at the people surrounding him all he sees are adoring, trusting eyes of all shades and qualities staring back at him. In one fashion or another he gets touched as they one by one agree to his conditions, believing in him to catch them wherever they unsuredly end up.

Keeping in the pattern the five of them are used to, Ethan and Boyd agree easily - though maybe not very happily - while Aiden and Erica need a bit more persuasion and threats before they agree to leave the newest McCall-Hale Packmember alone.

Aiden, the last of the Weres’ to concede to Stiles, challenges him with an eyebrow raised and lips pursed, the works. The Werewolf is spending too much time with his Banshee girlfriend.

“Even Theo?”

The silence lasts longer then. Stiles takes his time ripping apart his waffle while the question bitterly lingers. He blows a raspberry with his lips - which he’s sure the supposed Werewolf would delightfully watch if present, probably even make a comment on Stiles' long fingers - before he finally answers. “Yes. Against my better judgment, even Theo.”

It is what their Alpha's decided after all, and the two (constantly tricked and seduced) leaders couldn’t be wrong. Right?

With a rather intentionally dramatic sigh, which sucks all the tension from the room as he’d hoped, Stiles runs a greasy hand through his hair as he instructs further. “So no fights. Not today. From any of you, am I understood?”

A couple more grunts of recognition and they go back to eating. They talk leisurely while Stiles simultaneously tries to push them into getting up and ready for departure.

They barely make it into the loft before being confronted by an Alpha.

“Dude,” Scott sounds done with Stiles already, only just stepping over the threshold of the metal door into the den. Goodie. Tonight should be a delight. “You’re, like, almost an hour late. Dinner is gonna have to be pushed back now.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at the complaint wondering if it’s even worth pointing out that dinner is gonna be late because Stiles is one of the main cooks. Ironically, it’s mostly the humans that do the cooking for the supernatural creatures. Stiles, Danny, Mason, and (oddly enough) Jackson do the most cooking with Boyd and Ethan lending a paw every so often.

There’s a subtle growl or two behind Stiles, but he just waves them off. Yet again in the pairs that Stiles is used to, he sees Ethan and Boyd heave sighs before scurrying off to the kitchen while Erica and Aiden stay at the human’s back. Protection.

Much appreciated though ill-advised.

“It’s fine, I’ll help out with the second ham,” yes, you heard right they need a second ham, “the next patch of potatoes, and I’ll get started on the piernik right away. We’ll be fifteen minutes behind at the most.” Stiles tries to reassure his current Alpha and on the rocks best friend.

Rather than waiting for another berating response about how the Alpha doesn’t want his precious mate to starve, Stiles plows his way to the loft’s kitchen. He rubs a free hand over several heads and necks as he passes by his packmates, notably stopping to scent both Liam sitting on the couch and Jackson who’s chopping vegetables next to the kitchen sink just a second longer than the rest of the Weres’. Both have a weaker hold over their Wolves compared to the others (though it’s best for everyone’s sake to not point this out), and while neither of the Alphas are willing to grant the human the title, Stiles is an acting emissary of sorts which makes the unsteady pups feel more grounded by his influence.

Scott silently chases him all the way to the kitchen which does not bode well for Stiles since the only time he receives this much attention from the True Asshole is when he’s about to be lectured about something or other. Still, one slide-eye glance deters Stiles’ two bodyguards from coming with them, tails seemingly sulkingly tucked between their legs, because he did have them promise peace for today.

Placing his bag of bought groceries for the Christmas meal, Stiles begins to arrange his own little dedicated station at the kitchen counter. It’s the same corner usually given to him to roll out doughs and season fixings as he pleased. This is his domain that people do not enter unless they are under his instruction.

As much as people think Stiles is the wild child, Scott’s never been one to follow the rules either.

The Werewolf steps right into Stiles’ personal space and places a presumed calming hand on the human’s shoulder. Stiles stares down at the hand on his like it’s foreign. At this point in their relationship, it is.

“Look,” Scott sighs in the same manner that Stiles had just earlier but the human severely doubts it’s used purposefully or, if it is, that it’s meant to defuse a ticking time bomb of a situation. Knowing Scott for as long as Stiles has, the reluctant Werewolf probably has been rehearsing this speech all morning in preparation for Stiles.

Stiles is just another painful chore for his best friend to deal with, like Erica and Aiden with dishes.

The blow comes quietly, a sting like a bee type of impact.

“I just want you on good behavior today, alright? Not picking fights with anyone. Especially Theo. He’s new, and I want him to know he’s wanted here.”

There is a complete silence in the room right after. That itself is pretty telling since it’s Christmas Eve and there should be more noise and celebration. But, of course, Scott has to put some more weight on Stiles first. An early gift.

Stiles will readily admit he’s a hypocrite in this scenario. The simple fact that Scott is commanding him to play nice with a sketchy-ass familiar stranger in the kitchen, where the most people are currently moving around and in hearing distance of almost all of the pack, is a spit in the face. The blatant mistrust and intent to embarrass him into submission makes Stiles want to demand a duel with Theo right here and now, Princess Bride style.

Instead, Stiles slowly exhales all the negative energy inside him out like his meditation tapes instruct and looks around the kitchen to find something to ground him, encouraging him not to sock his childhood friend of almost twelve years in the nose. What he finds is Jackson and Ethan looking at his and Scott’s direction with scowls while Mason and Lydia grimace down at the food they are preparing silently.

At least Stiles knows his rage is justified. That he’s not delusional in his gutted ego. Whatever, though, he guesses. It’s not like it’s the first wound he’s had to patch up by himself.

“I won’t start anything if he doesn’t,” Stiles agrees. It’s not complete acquiesce, but it’s a compromise. Something Scott has had a hard time doing.

Nevertheless, the tan boy’s smile appears, blinding the masses, like Stiles has just promised him the world. “Thank you, man. It means a lot. It would just make everybody’s lives easier, ya know?” Stiles opens his mouth to respond, though honestly, he doesn’t even know what he would have responded with so it’s probably good that Scott’s already lost interest in him now.

“Well, I’ll let you get to cooking. I’m going to find Allison, I’ll catch you later tonight bro.”

Stiles knows his body must pathetically, visibly deflate after the conversation. Stiles licks at his lips, even managing to make that an annoyed gesture. “Right.”

Feeling defeated, he turns back to the bag he’s set down on the counter full of ingredients for piernik - the way his mom made it.

It doesn’t surprise him how quickly it takes Jackson to get to the brunet’s side, peering into the toque bag as well.

“I got all the spices out already for your gingerbread loaf,” the blond informs him. Stiles is about to mumble a thanks to him when he’s eloquently interrupted once more. “You’re welcome, fucknut.”

He fakes a glare in Jackson’s direction, only a step or two away from him, but can’t help to let it fall away when all that greets him is a sly little smirk that Stiles is all too fond of nowadays. With the glare, his anger also seems to slip away, unfortunately making Jackson’s plan work precisely.

“There’s more cinnamon and honey than in gingerbread, and it’s way moister than gingerbread cookies, thank you very much. Now stop disrespecting my heritage or you’ll lose your desert rights.”

It’s technically another loss since Jackson has so clearly won this round between the two of them, grinning the winner he’s used to being, but Stiles finds it harder to feel the defeat of this conversation.

The lacrosse and swim team captain is smarter than most people give him credit for, Stiles was once included in that lump sum. He really should have figured that Danny didn’t just stick around for a pretty face. No, Jackson is a consistent B student - not something to scoff at considering the other grades in the pack - but he’s also smart when it comes to reading people. More specifically the people he dedicates himself to, and boy does he dedicate himself to certain people.

It really is a wonder how Jackson and Stiles overlooked their similarities all these years.

It might have been the years of bullying.

Yeah, it is probably that.

But times change.

Now Stiles is one of Jackson’s anchors. It’s not a well kept secret. Nearly everyone points the Calvin Klein wannabe in his direction during times of struggle. Well, Stiles and the other brains of the operation.

Jackson likes to stay in the close vicinity of either Stiles, Danny, or Lydia at all times. The humans or the Banshee must be within reach at all times, and when the trio are in the same place? Jackson, and his wolf, are at his calmest, most mellow state. Where he feels safest and most relaxed.

Danny and Lydia are self-explanatory. The two people in Jackson’s life that have accepted him no matter what. Whether the matter at hand is addressing the blue-eyed wolf status or coming out as bisexual, the two of them have always remained in his corner. He’ll repay that with his life if it comes down to it, Stiles knows that now.

Not everyone understood - or liked - Jackson’s newfound attachment to Stiles when it first occurred. It happened almost overnight right after the Nogistune was expelled. Jackson was just constantly there to draw pain when needed or be the shoulder to lean on when too weak to stand or be whatever crutch he had to be for Stiles, right up until the damned fox spirit was bitten and gone. Then it turned into hikes and night trips and room redecorating and wardrobe rebranding. Anything and everything that changed or altered Stiles’ past to his present. Adjust the environment so that reality isn’t as foggy. Jackson was good at pushing Stiles' buttons to make him feel enough like himself again while also making him feel like no longer being who he once was.

Because no matter what, he wasn’t who he once was and he never could be. But he gets to decide who the new him will be.

And Jackson had been his guide almost every step of the way; he had been what he wished to have after the Kanima incident.

Scott wasn’t all too happy with this development because Stiles was supposed to be his best friend so why was the human suddenly spending so much of his free, admittedly despondent, time with the blonde. Except that Isaac was still always stuck to the Alpha’s side and his girlfriend needed him daily because of the trumatic experience she went through. Not to knock Ally in any way, Stiles knows what he did to her. He just still thinks it’s senseless of Scott to think that Stiles was going to walk off possession by himself.

Derek wasn’t so keen on the idea of the two being around each other so much either, though he would never so much as hint as to why. That only lets Stiles’ brain fester with the worse, which in turn made Jackson’s presence more needed.

Deep down, Stiles knew that the jock’s fondness of Stiles is a solely selfish one that stems from the fact that now Jackson was not the only murderer by proxy. There was someone else to point at and say see, I’m not the only freak.

Not that he can blame the adoptee. They’ve both been abandoned and alone before.

“He’s an asshat.”

“Hmm,” Stiles acknowledges without agreeing. Again, he’s on thin ice and he doesn’t know who might be listening right now.

“Should have stuck with me in third grade,” Jackson says arrogantly.

Stiles snorts at the brash confidence. Though part of Stiles thinks he’s right.

Nevertheless, Stiles shoves at the other boy who doesn’t even budge with the force. “Start being useful or I’ll break your nose like I did in third grade,” he warns.

He doesn’t even bother on dignifying the fact that he knows his heart skips a beat, and neither does Jackson as they begin to wordlessly make the Stilinski famous piernik.

Things have come weirdly full circle in Stiles’ life, with Jackson Whittmore being one of his best friends and making his mother’s favorite dessert for the first time without her. It’s also one of the most peaceful times of his life since his mother.

Lydia has an almost obsessive love for Christmas. Like, on the same level of his crush on her (something he has apologized profusely for once retrospection showed him how fucking scary that was). She’s the exact opposite of seasonal depression the minute Thanksgiving passes, enthusiastically winding herself up awaiting the spectacular day of holly. The giving holiday just ignites something in that brutal soul of hers. There are exactly twenty-five outfits alone in her wardrobe that capture the spirit of December.

With that in mind in connection with the fact that she has the best party decorating techniques, it was a no-brainer who was in charge of decking the halls of the loft.

There’s shiny silver tinsel hung in every room, string from corner to corner to make the place feel less murder cave. A special little plant dangles from the tinsel hanging over the doorway connecting the den of the loft to the kitchen, making the flimsy decorating hang just a tad lower which only makes the added shrub even more noticeable. It’s a plastic plant, obviously, since it’d cause quite the case of allergic reactions to the party-goers if it were real.

But tradition remains.

The said Banshee is currently still roaming around the group in the kitchen, measuring out the drinks for the night. The mathematical genius is the only person the pack trusts to get the right ratios of wolfsbane to booze so that the supernatural members get the effects without too much of the effects.

Isaac has found his way into the kitchen as he stands dutifully beside Kira as they roll out premade cookie dough, the heathens, onto baking sheets. Nobody points out that not all the balls of dough make it from the pair's hands to the pan.

Danny is popping in his batch of Hawaiian meatballs - Stiles has already been thoroughly threatened that if a single innuendo leaves his mouth he will be eating after all the Wolves have had their way with the feast - and starting on the pani popo coconut rolls so that they’ll still be warm by the time dinner is called.

Boyd is working on a batch of roasted potatoes for those who don't like mashed. Heathens, Stiles says. Erica is by her boyfriend’s side, but just to chat with. After she tried to slice a potato with her claw, she was told to stop helping.

Jackson and Stiles have finished with the piernik at this point, and while the blonde has fucked off to greater things, Stiles did agree to help with the next ham so he finds himself working with Mason on braising the hefty serving.

“You think this is gonna be enough protein for all the, uh, special people we’re cooking for?” Mason asks as he considers the size of the chunk of meat.

Stiles wishes he could confidently say yes. He really, really does.

“I’m gonna go ask who wants the ham and who is just gonna want the other stuff,” Stiles says after a prolonged moment. Other than Danny’s meatballs and a salmon that Lydia asked them to cook, they don’t have any other meats.

Stiles prays he won’t have to go out shopping on Christmas Eve.

Already thinking about the worst-case scenarios, Stiles loses himself a little in his thoughts as he walks towards the living room to ask the pack what they want. Loses himself enough to find himself colliding right into the second Alpha.

To keep the human from falling on the concrete floor face-first, two arms wrap around him and pull him close to a warm but sturdy chest, one that he’d gladly melt into. From how close he’s pulled into the other person, Stiles can trace hints of sandalwood and leather. It’s a mixture that he longs for at night.

Eventually opening his eyes to look at his savior he sees Derek looking a mixture of surprised and annoyed by the handful of Stiles all up in his business, but it's not like Stiles planned for this. Not this time at least. The pair of them get far too lost in staring at each other, acting like deers in headlights, when Stiles breaks their impromptu staring contest to flirt his eyes up to fake mistletoe just above their heads.

All day long people have been leaving kisses on each other, even if they are just little pecks or cheek kisses, all the packmembers have obeyed the time-honored tradition. It wasn’t meant to be a big deal.

It felt like one right now.

Especially when Stiles lowers his gaze again to see a beet-faced Derek still staring back at him. Stiles’ heart skips double time.

Unfortunately, this isn’t Stiles’ Hallmark romance because just as suddenly as the two of them come together, Derek pushes Stiles away. The human stumbles a bit but doesn’t move far from the doorway. Instead, Derek is the one to retreat by hightailing back the way he came and foregoing whatever mission led him to the kitchen. Mutely. He’s always been a man of few words. Violence only.

Stiles really shouldn’t be that affected by these reactions at this point.

Especially when they’re in an off-again stage. Though he kinda doubts he would have gotten such a display of affection even during an on-again period.

Derek only wants Stiles when he feels lonely and broken and wants someone to want him and make him feel whole. Someone that will crawl back into his bed despite the fact that he’s left them at the slightest chance of a new romance.

Stiles could excuse the behavior right after Kate. How could he not? The entire situation with Kate was harrowing and traumatic for all those involved, but most outstandingly so to Derek. So of course Stiles just went with the flow of meaningless (to one of them at least) and rough (sometimes too rough) sex.

He maybe should have gotten a clue when Derek fell so easily at Jennifer’s/Julia’s/Whoever-The-Fuck-She-Was’s feet without so much as a glance back at Stiles. Not until there were too many signs for the Alpha to ignore that the druid was not in fact a druid.

Stiles definitely got the memo of what he was to Derek when he walked in on him balls deep in Braeden. Stiles was a convenient hole in between actual, viable relationships.

Which is why Stiles was vindictively pleased to hear that Braeden just up and left without any notice only a month ago.

Stiles knows it’s only a matter of time, give or take another month, before Derek comes creeping in through his bedroom window looking for comfort. Seeking out Stiles to reassure him that he’s still lovable while making Stiles think he has even the slightest chance at being loved back.

He hopes he doesn’t let himself fall for it this time.

Before he has enough time to properly sulk from the interaction or his thoughts, another pair of equally strong arms find their way around his midsection and he’s pulled back to press against a firm body. Time and familiarity keep Stiles from jumping at the sudden unannounced intimacy. There’s a feather lip press of lips to his temple that has Stiles exhale almost all his stress out.

Leaning back into the familiar arms, he looks over his shoulder to address the wolf currently cuddling him under the mistletoe.

“You know,” Stiles breathes the words out in a sigh. He lets his head fall back onto the other male’s shoulder. “My life would be so much easier if you were even the slightest bit gay.”

The answering laugh is a soft and breathy gust of air that Stiles feels on the nape of his neck, a small private thing. “How do you figure?” Boyd asks.

“Me and Erica would have so much fun climbing you together.”

Stiles smiles at his own wit as the large Beta huffs out another quiet chuckle. It’s not an overly grand display of happiness, but joy isn’t an external thing. That’s something Stiles figured out while getting to know the quiet boy. A lot of emotions aren’t easily or readily displayed physically for some people. But just because Boyd is timid in manner doesn’t make him even remotely timid in nature.

“I don’t think I can handle both of you. Mentally or physically.” Boyd admits. “Besides, I think there’s someone else that wants to be climbed by you. Or to climb you. He doesn’t seem very picky.”

“You’re hanging out with Erica too much.”

“Shocking.”

For such a big guy, Boyd really can be a little shit.

There’s a retort on the tip of his tongue but for the third time today, he’s stopped by someone else. To be fair, that’s not that odd of an occurrence when someone talks as much as Stiles does, but it’s still rude.

No, the two males said Bettlejuice’s name too many times.

“Derek’s fucked more than his fair share of bad guys and evil bitches all around,” Erica interjects herself in the conversation.

Much like this morning, Stiles finds himself with an armful of the blonde bombshell as she clings to his shoulders and brings them chest to chest, turning him, once again, into a Stiles sandwich with Werewolf breading. “I think you get a free pass for shagging the one that’s been slobbering over your dick since he popped up out of the woodworks.”

“You know we can all hear you, right?” Isaac hisses in their direction from where he’s still pretending to not be eating the cookie dough.

Stiles can only faintly hear someone casually say in the living room, “No, let the blonde keep talking. She’s doing me the favor.”

Fucking Theo Raeken.

Stiles scowls as he hears the shifting of blankets and pillows that indicates someone getting up from the pile, actually getting a moment’s glance at the new Wolf when he rounds the couch. If Stiles had an animal under his skin then he would certainly be barring some teeth in exchange for that stupid smile the short boy sports.

Before anything can escalate though, Stiles gets distracted by Erica taking him by the chin and directing his face to line back up with her own before she smashes their lips together. He doesn’t struggle against it but neither of them takes it further than lips on lips. The gesture is to mark him as hers as equally as she’s his. Warn Theo what he’s messing with more than just one singular, albeit admittedly dangerous on his own, human.

The kiss is over just as fast as it starts, but Stiles knows that he’s gonna have to go to the bathroom and clean the lipstick now covering his mouth. Regardless, he returns the smirk she gives him as she pulls away.

The arms that still hold him securely constrict a little tighter - not from jealousy, but from being left out of the display. The twin smirks only grow from the noticeable action. Stiles leans back in the embrace, allowing his head to lul onto a broad shoulder, and smacking a wet sounding kiss onto Boyd’s cheek. Stiles feels Erica press solidly against his own chest in order to lean over his body to plant her lips on her mate’s other cheek.

His Catwoman cackles as she leaps off of him and twirls gracefully in the direction of the loft’s den, flashing her pearly whites in Theo’s direction as she passes by in an innocently threatening manner. Boyd runs a lingering hand over Stiles’ neck before following after her.

Stiles still hasn’t gotten rid of the smile hanging from his lips as he watches them leave, but he does try to wipe some of the residues of the she-wolf’s lipstick away with his thumb.

“Do I get one?”

“You fucking wish.”

“Oh, I absolutely do wish.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You didn’t think so when we were kids.”

“Kids are dumb.”

“No, kids are naive. Something you never have been, even as a child.”

Another staring contest initiates. A cool cobalt blue reverently boring into warm whiskey. Whether it’s because of the thing lurking in those blue eyes, the thickly intoxicating air that surrounds them, or the way that Theo’s mere presence brings on an onslaught of heated memories, Stiles always finds himself drifting to the supernatural being despite his best efforts.

His best efforts that are starting to wane. The will to spite the dubious stranger is harder to find lately, especially when some of the things he promises Stiles are looking better and better every day.

See, it’s kind of difficult to hate Theo now when Stiles knows something that the rest of the pack doesn’t. Harder to fully commit to resenting Theo now that the Werewolf decided to just . . . out himself to Stiles. Revealing himself so directly and proving to Stiles that he’s not a paranoid whackjob.

Plus, motivation is always a great place to start an investigation.

He knows what Theo wants. The alleged bitten boy told Stiles himself what it was that he’s after in Beacon.

A pack.

A pack made out of only certain fragments of the McCall-Hale pack. The bits of the already established pack that seem to be the most trusted by and to Stiles. And why hasn’t Stiles told either Alpha about this confession, you may ask? Because they don’t trust Stiles. Conveniently this pack also doesn’t include them.

A pack that respects Stiles. A pack where Stiles gets a title.

Still, Stiles can't bring himself to trust that Cheshire grin, no matter how many pretty words fall from those prettier lips. The lips he remembers from little league, hiding in the dugout long after practice was over so that they can have a stolen moment away. The lips that -

His brain short circuits as he throws himself away from the other boy before he does something incredibly stupid. The useless excuse of a frontal lobe scrambles to find something to draw the conversation away from lips and mates.

“You gonna want ham or something else?”

Shoot him.

Stick claws into him.

Gag him with mistletoe.

The only fortunate thing to come out of this is that for once Stiles seems to have gotten the drop on Theo. The overly confident Were’ looks thoroughly off kilter by the blurted question. Then the supernatural being laughs. In small rumbles at first until it becomes loud and with his whole chest. Those lips laugh, so fully and genuinely that Stiles is now questioning what may or may not be a performance.

Stiles hates to admit that it’s a sound he likes.

There’s a hand on his leg at dinner.

Who thought it was a good idea to have Theo sit next to Stiles is a fucking idiot.

Scott insisted that Stiles let Theo have the space next to him even though Stiles was hoping to save that one for Derek. One glance at the other side of the table showed that Derek was comfortably seated between Kira and Lydia. It would probably be a little less comfortable after the Banshee saw the way Stiles’ face fell at the sight.

Now instead Stiles is slotted between Jackson and Theo. A third-grade reunion before mother and sister deaths or adoption reveals came to ruin what they had.

The hand is extremely persistent in its journey up the seam on the inside of Stiles’ thigh even after being shooed away the nth time halfway through the meal. It’s a miracle that Stiles hasn’t choked on anything yet.

Jackson flashes his eyes across still to the other Wolf as subtly as he can, but other than that there’s not much he can do without causing a scene. After a series of texts back and forth between the human and the former Kanima, it’s clear Jackson would be more than willing to make a scene is needed.

Stiles can’t get the goddamn hand to leave his leg. No matter how many times he pries the fingers and palm away from his thigh, it ends up coming back. It’s a song and dance.

It’s around the point that he has trouble stabbing a not quite cooked carrot with his fork that Stiles realizes he’s not going to win. In fact, Theo allowing him to even move the hand away was a twisted sort of mercy. The Wolf could easily overpower him and didn’t have to let the human take his hand away if he didn’t allow it. It’s still fucked up that he won’t take the no, but not as fucked as it could be.

So the next time the hand gets too far, Stiles grips it again. This time though, instead of guiding it away from his lap he leads it back up.

There’s a weird sort of negotiation to it. The hand stays, but only at Stiles’ knee and no further, and Stiles’ hand has to lay over it or else it will start roaming again. As long as his hand rests on top of Theo’s then the hand remains still.

Even Jackson seems appeased by the outcome from the way his shoulders relax just enough to be noticeable.

So that’s how they spend the rest of the dinner.

“Secret Santa time!” Lydia declares with a bright and chipper tone. It’s honestly a little terrifying. With all the grace Stiles could never possess, the girl stands from the table and glides in the direction of the den where their real tree decorated with painted pine cones and candy canes awaits.

“What if we don’t like what we get?” Malia asks.

“Then you say thanks you love it and everyone ignores the fact that your heart is playing hopscotch.”

“Scott,” Lydia says, handing the gift wrapped in red paper with blue pawprints scattered around it.

“Aw, thanks, Lydia.” Scott thanks before opening the present.

He maybe should have waited to show gratitude because when the wrapping is peeled away what’s left in the Alpha’s hands is a guidebook on how to effectively be a leader. Stiles has to bite a fucking knuckle to keep from cackling.

This insult is too clear for even Scott to miss, but he decides not to make a confrontation and laughs lightly, pretending like it’s a gag gift.
Scott trades off his gift to Jackson, which is just fucking rich. The blond looks like he’d rather let Peter bite him again before taking whatever is in the Alpha’s hands. Upon a nudge from Danny and a whispered threat from Lydia though, Jackson takes the very obvious bottle of something or other that’s poorly covered in newspapers. It’s scotch. Jackson pops the top off to smell the contents without even saying anything. Malia, sitting right next to the adopted child in their pack, leans over to sniff it as well. From her disappointed reaction, Stiles assumes that it’s either not of good quality or there’s no wolfbane making the drink useless.

That distinction does not become any clearer when Jackson grimaces a second longer before downing a good portion of the bottle without flinching. It’s only when he’s wiping his mouth does he mumble a thanks in Scott’s direction.

Derek opens a relatively nicely wrapped box to reveal an even nicer digital camera that has Derek smiling at his technical first Beta in a genuine yet still somehow unnatural way. The blond just barely covers the sneer that Stiles knows wants to emerge.

If Jackson had gotten his way while shopping with Stiles and Lydia, Derek would have opened up a shopping brand plastic bag only to find a scented candle. Part of Stiles hates that they managed to talk the half-wolf out of it.

Derek gives Theo a coffee mug and brewer because he’s never been creative and never tried to be thoughtful. The interaction between the two of them is stiff and somewhat cold in a way, neither of them quite able to fake being nice to the other for whatever reason.

Theo fakes a smile anyway though, and following protocol thanks to the Alpha for the gift.

Then without further ado, he gets up and makes his way to the tree to sift through the stack of presents. After a minute he pulls a smaller package from the pile and leisurely walks back to his spot on the couch, conveniently placed right between Scott and Stiles.

Stiles is honestly surprised that Theo had gone as long as he did without putting his hands on the human with how close they were in proximity.

Maybe it was in consideration of what he has planned.

Stiles should have expected what happened next, but really, could you blame him?

Theo, with the brightest most charming fucking smile in existence, twists in his seat to have his back completely towards Scott and to face Stiles fully. All his attention is on the human with no regard to anyone else in the pack, especially not to Scott.

He holds the box out with two hands.

“For you, Mica.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Scott coughs extremely unsubtly and sends a pointedly judgy stare to Stiles just over Theo’s shoulder. Stiles makes a point himself to glare back. Not that he was going to win this fight, but, Jesus Christ, is this for real right now? Of all the fucking odds?

Caution gets thrown to the wind though, along with Stiles’ opinion on matters, and Stiles roughly snatches the box out of Theo’s hands with a huff.

The bottom half of the package is glossy, cool and smooth to the touch, while the top has a more velvet texture in contrast. It’s more like something you should be handing Lydia or Jackson, but here is Stiles accepting this intimidatingly fancy box.

From Theo fucking Raeken.

To get this over with as soon as possible, he wastes no time trying to shimmy the top off the bottom where the present is hidden away. Stiles is expecting a charm of some sort, something magically involved that he will definitely have to look into more before using. Probably something that will appear useful that way Scott can moon over what a good packmate Theo is and how helpful he is.

The top pops off and he pulls it away to uncover the gift that sits pretty on a bed of black silk.

Stiles’ heart stops.

It’s a necklace.

A thin golden chain with a pearl at the center that’s embedded into a fake white glass lily. It looks cheap, probably didn’t cost any more than ten dollars. Honestly, the wrapping was more intricate and expensive looking than the actual gift.

But that doesn’t matter because Stiles knows exactly what this necklace is and what it means.

It’s Tara’s.

Well, okay, probably not Tara’s, but it’s the same necklace she wore day in and day out. The one she was buried with.

On one level, Stiles knows what that means. What it implies.

Only three people alive know what else the necklace implies.

Dylan Thomas is the first and foremost.

Dylan gave the necklace to Tara as an anniversary present. Her boyfriend of three solid years, the boy she was in deep with. He told her that every day she wore it was her way of telling him she wants him in her life and the future they dreamed of making. Symbolized that she would still want him when night fell and morning rose and hell came. All the nosey mothers and jealous friends cooed over how cute it was, but they didn’t know what the necklace signified.

A ring was too obvious and would have driven Tara and Theo’s parents to separate the young lovers. Dylan knew that everyone would think they were moving too fast, but they thought they knew themselves the best. Knew what they felt was just right.

They were going to get married the minute she turned eighteen.

Tara said that only Theo and Stiles would be invited to the wedding.

Dylan moved away at seventeen to live with his cousin in Maine, desperately trying to run away from his heartbreak. He’s not here to explain.

Stiles looks up, finally able to break his enchantment over the jewelry in his hand, and finds Theo already looking back. To be fair, everyone in the room is staring at him right now, probably because of his heart playing hopscotch, but they don’t understand what’s happening. Stiles and Theo are the only people left who know what is truly being offered here. Being proposed.

There’s a lot of things he could say in this instance.

Do you even know what this means?

I knew you weren’t my Theo.

What is actually wrong with you?

You’re fucking insane.

But none of that comes out.

Because Theo looks much too intent to not know what this exchange is.

Because his Alphas wouldn’t believe him.

Because Stiles promised not to let his people fall.

Because Stiles has sacrificed enough for ungrateful Alphas.

“Thanks.”

The word feels almost tangible in his mouth, getting stuck for a minute before he offers another one. He can feel the shock fill the room at the one syllable.

“Thanks, Theo.”

The said wolf was not excluded from the collective moment of surprise, even if his surprise leaned more towards awe, but he’s also the first to recover. Theo’s shoulders lose tension that Stiles didn’t even notice placed there and a smile - not a smirk or annoying grin that they’ve gotten used to over the past few months, but an actual smile - graces his already pretty face only to make it prettier by exposing dimples. He nods back to Stiles as if he’s too overwhelmed to speak.

The wolf looks way too thrilled for Stiles just giving thanks, but Stiles knows why. The human hadn’t accepted the proposal, but he accepted the idea of it by keeping the necklace.

Stiles is giving him a chance.

“I still don’t trust you,” Stiles informs Theo three hours after the Necklace Incident.

Dinner itself went fine, other than one jab Erica sent to Scott and while it went over the Alpha’s head for the most, Isaac growled back at the insults with one of his own. Quick and efficient warnings from both Stiles and Derek set the dinner back on course.

The Secret Santa on the other hand got a bit messy towards the end. Too many of Stiles’ people butting heads with Scott’s loyal minions. It’s unfunnily funny to think about how there are no people loyal to Derek specifically, just in association with Scott. Stiles stole nearly all Derek’s Betas.

To avoid any stress on the holiday, it was called to an end shortly after the last gift was given, then it was clean-up time with preparation for a festive sleepover on the loft floor.

Stiles, Lydia, and Danny insisted on using actual cleaning products rather than the DIY soap mix that Derek makes that doesn’t have any offending chemical odors. Normally it’s a sufficient solution but just for today, it would be better to use the chemicals because of how much mess and unsanitized residue would be left in the kitchen.

With reluctant agreement and the desire not to give any of the humans salmonellae because of an unwashed knife, Derek said he’d take all those with especially sensitive noses outside to run around until the loft has been aired out. Of course, he didn’t actually tell Stiles any of this even though Stiles was the one to ask him permission to use the super-secret can of Lysol hidden away in the back of the hallway closet.

No, Stiles only found out where the hell everybody disappeared to when Liam informed him via text because the young Beta wants him to join them outside after.

It’s really not the kid’s fault, but Stiles leaves him on read anyway.

Stiles isn't even surprised when Theo enters the room immediately after Danny announces his departure. He comes right up beside the human, smugness still radiating off him.

There's no point in fighting it at this stage.

That's how Stiles finds himself now standing casually at the kitchen counter that still smells faintly of cleaning chemicals even to Stiles, but Theo doesn’t seem to mind all too much unlike the other sensitive-nosed beings, as they eat a slice of piernik. As long as Stiles is by his side, Theo doesn’t seem that bothered by much.

“Yeah,” Theo chuckles lightly like Stiles is joking. “I’ve gathered that.”

This wasn’t a joke and he hopes Theo can smell that over the pungent lemon scent.

“I want to take what you’re offering,” Stiles admits. He goes on before Theo's smile gets any wider at the blatant omission. “But I can’t do that when your vibes scream will eat you alive after convincing you he’s granny.”

It’s hard to pinpoint what exactly it is, his posture stays the same and he’s still a handsome asshole, but Stiles can see in his periphery the moment Theo drops his act. Exactly like he did that night in the woods. The one where Theo was willing to give up part of his plan to Stiles. The one where Stiles knew that Theo was being his actual self. No goofy mask, no fake seduction, no tricks. Just a twisted fucker stating that he wants other people that are just as twisted.

The real Theo leans closer into Stiles, making their sides flush together. “I don’t need you to trust me, Mieczysław.” The shiver that runs up and down Stiles’ spine at the use of his name being pronounced properly in that slick voice is involuntary. “I need you to rely on me.”

In a bit of annoyance, Stiles stabs his fork rather harshly into the next piece of dessert. They are getting nowhere and Stiles blames Theo's evasiveness.

Theo must be able to tell that Stiles is nearing his fuse because leaning even closer together, he whispers in a voice so soft, “I’ll make sure there’s solid ground below when you jump off the edge.”

“Sounds too good to be true,” Stiles counters.

Theo raises an effortless eyebrow back at him. “In a world full of Werewolves and Banshees and so on, this is the thing that you can’t believe?”

“You wouldn’t be dumb enough to be so trusting of a stranger,” Stiles ignores the scoff of ‘we’re hardly strangers, Mica’, “if the roles were reversed. We both know that.”

“Maybe," Theo replies. He takes a moment to bring his own fork to his mouth and lick the crumbs from the prongs. Stiles does not flush at the sight. "But I also know when to listen to my gut. To bet on black when everything about this feels right.”

“I’m not a gambling person.”

Theo’s eyes light with a sort of wonder. “But you’re a strategist. You work with odds and risks and chances. You have more cards than anyone at the table, and you are most definitely safe from having a losing hand this round.” Theo pauses as his eyes flicker back down to Stiles' mouth then. Stiles follows the movement by staring at Theo’s where the fork taps at his bottom lip. Stiles wants to replace that fork with something else. “The only question is who are you going to angle the game in favor of?”

Stiles is laid out between Erica and Jackson, comfortably soaking up their heat and protection, by the time that it’s lights out. It’s only appropriate that he ends the day slotted between blonds again.

Any further discussion Theo and Stiles could have had was cut at the legs when the Wolf warned him that Liam, the puppy that he is, was ascending the stairs of the loft to check on Stiles because the older boy hadn’t responded to his message for such an extended time. The others soon came in his footsteps after hearing that the youngest Beta was promised hot chocolate as compensation for making him worry.

Thankfully, Stiles is allowed to breathe this time because Erica is pressed to him with her back, keeping most of her head of hair out of his face. She’s curled into Boyd on the other side of her, but the couple still manages to be as close to the human as possible, almost like he’s somehow a part of the relationship in some fashion. It is kinda nice to be included at the very least. The Beta male has an arm stretched across his girlfriend to lightly play with Stiles’ hair. The human could cry from the softness of it all.

Despite all that, though, he can’t quiet his mind enough to sleep.

Stiles isn’t stupid.

He knows that Theo is aiming for him because he’s the linchpin in the pack.

You take Stiles out and suddenly it all comes apart.

Erica and Boyd will follow after Stiles, no matter where he lands. The three of them have had their blood mingled and tears shared. They are pack. Non-negotiable.

He’s inclined to say that Jackson and the twins will also. There’s too much trust between them. Not necessarily friendship, but something simultaneously more and less than that. Their histories with Stiles are twisted, but that just makes them twined together now, for better and worse. Usually worse, which just twists it further.

The only for-sure reason Liam and Mason will come to Stiles is if he’s on Theo’s side. Theo’s side that inexplicably has both Hayden and Corey lurking in the shadows. Theo’s relationship with the two hasn’t been a secret, mingling in broad daylight without a care, but it’s also not explained.

It’s hard to say for Malia and Lydia, as much as it hurts him to admit. The girls have the closest, deepest bonds to Stiles, but that doesn’t mean anything. Not with this dance of survival they call life. When the chips are down and it’s a choice between the untrustworthy chances or unreliable familiarity, he’s not going to judge them for whatever they chose.

Isaac and Kira are for sure sticking by Scott no matter how Stiles pitches it. Allison, regardless of her history with the Alpha, may be reasoned with. That one may take time and effort, but Stiles doesn’t think it’s impossible. Just improbable.

Peter isn’t a pawn, that much is sure. But he’ll make himself one when it comes to Stiles. He’ll offer himself up to Stiles - for information, for an extra pair of claws, for a scapegoat - if he’s asked to, which he has unfortunately been asked to before because Stiles is only human. He can’t always play fairly against two Alphas.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

Stiles is playing against Derek and Scott. Just not separately. It’s DerekAndScott. The fact that Stiles has ever won against the combined hands, no matter how good of a player he is, is a wonder.

Stiles is playing by himself.

Theo is offering a partner.

Make it an even fight for once.

Theo is right about one thing.

Stiles is a strategist.

And sometimes strategy banks on the luck of the draw.

Relying on a chance to keep playing just a bit longer, until you get a better hand.

Until you can win.

The next morning starts loud, which Stiles should have guessed it would. Christmas is now officially in full swing by eight a.m. sharp with Erica (of all fucking people), Kira, Mason, and Lydia blasting All I Want For Christmas throughout the already reverberant loft.

Stiles, having blessedly fallen asleep at some point in the night after his brain stopped needlessly overworking itself up, wakes with his head on a large pec belonging to Jackson, legs entwined with Erica’s (balls being threatened once more), and a hand in Liam’s soft locks.

People stumble into consciousness around him in the puppy pile - slowly but surely. He is surprisingly one of the first to rise after the roaring wake-up call, accepting his impending defeat against the likes of Mariah Carrey and Lydia Martin. Walking into the kitchen where only a handful of the pack resides in comparison to the majority that remains fakely sleeping in the den, Stiles looks over those that have risen and are scurrying around either making breakfast or stealing breakfast.

Lydia and Erica are missing their striking lipsticks, pointed eyeliner, and haunting eyeshadow. Jackson, the twins, and even Stiles don’t bother trying to do their hair this early, skipping the gels and such that created keen-styled spikes.

Everyone looks soft that morning. Beacon didn’t often allow them the option of being edgeless. The lacking cutting sharpness to all of them was something no one was used to, but seemed more than welcome in the holiday air. It was a good look for the pack.

Mason makes sure to wish everyone a Merry Christmas in the most infectiously enthusiastic way before he starts collecting Liam. The two youngest pack members still have families unfamiliar with the supernatural waiting for them at home.

Liam looks decidedly pouty about having to leave so early, causing several people to coo at him which only made him pout further.

The two best friends are the first to notice the difference in Stiles as they say their goodbyes.

Stiles brings the pup into a hug, knowing the boy always felt better about leaving his scent behind on Stiles specifically when Liam instantly stills as he buries his nose in the human’s neck. He pulls away cautiously and stares down at the smooth column of flesh.

The gold is noticeable in contrast to his pale skin.

The other young boy, much too curious for his own good which is exactly why Stiles likes him, invasively peers over Liam’s shoulder.

“Something we should know about?” Mason asks, also staring at the piece of jewelry. Human to human, Stiles likes how smart Mason can be. Like in this instance where he doesn’t whisper the question. Whispering means there’s an intent to hide and hiding from predators does not end well in this scenario.

Stiles shrugs at first, but then after some thought says, “Trying something out. I’ll let you know how it goes and whether or not I recommend it once I figure it out.

“Merry Christmas, kids.”

Almost ten minutes on the dot after that does the door open again with another man entering the loft. Another man that makes a bee-line to embrace Stiles.

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

“You too, Creeperwolf.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at the distracted looks the men send to each other, but can’t help the fond smile that lifts his lips. He doesn’t know who they’re trying to fool.

In a very similar way to how Liam discovered Stiles’ risk, Peter pulls away from the hug with a look of compilation. Those cold blue eyes trace along the path that the gold chain makes around his neck. He brings up a hand to touch the warming metal.

“And who was able to put a collar on you, my dear?” Peter asks, running a careful hand over the human’s neck where the necklace lays.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Stiles bluffs. He is absolutely the type to kiss and tell, just not yet.

“And who, pray tell, have you been kissing?”

The smirk comes naturally to Stiles when he sees how tense Peter seems at the question. The older Hale has never been one to hide his opinions on anything, and especially not when it comes to Stiles’ and Derek’s ‘relationship.’

Stiles has always been on the top of Peter’s favorite list. His nephew, on the other hand, no longer makes a cut onto that list at all.

“You don’t get to deliver any shovel talks.” His smirk only grows when he whispers the next part. “Not until you admit I’m not the only Stilinski you’re obsessed with.”

There's a playful swipe his way, a quick game of wolf and fox, as Stiles dodges Peter's grasp with a cackle. The older man huffs but allows his prey to escape, moving instead to steal some bacon then takes a seat at the table. Right not to Stiles' dad.

The morning continues on with some more people shuffling in and out of the room, with conversation rising and falling, but all the while Stiles continually sips at his coffee. He carefully stays standing at his place by the doorway.

After a little while, who he's waiting for arrives.

Ethan looks sheepish when he’s caught entering the room chatting casually with Theo about what sounds like a football team, but Stiles just smiles back at the gentler twin and waves him in.

Stiles does, however, block Theo from fully entering the kitchen.

“We just woke up,” Theo says with amusement in his voice. “What could I have possibly done yet?”

It takes longer than Stiles would expect for Theo’s eyes to catch the glint of gold on his neck, probably too caught up in trying to gaze into Stiles’ eyes, but the moment he does notice is breathtaking.

Eyes blown wide, defined jaw clicking shut, it’s one of the only times Stiles knows that whatever he’s feeling isn’t being faked.

Then the normally controlled, charming wolf growls. He tries to rush forward, but Stiles is more prepared and level-headed. He advances on the predator first which causes Theo to be caught in another standstill. Not that he seems all that bothered by it.

Stiles places a hand on the defined chest and applies pressure to move the Were' in reverse. He continues pushing the big bad wolf backward until they both are right in the doorway, directly under the fake mistletoe.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Theo asks when he finally finds his voice again. The sound is still animalistic in quality, though, and that sends an inappropriate thrill through Stiles. He sincerely doubts Theo actually cares about the answer to his question, not when there’s something lustfully dark expanding in his pupils while the baby blues of his eyes shine brighter despite the fact that his wolf eyes are yellow.

Regardless, Stiles gives him his answer.

“I do.”

It’s hard to say who crashed into who first, but their first kiss - first kiss as adults at least - is a collision of lips and teeth and tongues. Theo kisses Stiles like he’s just been damned and Stiles is his only salvation. The desperation in it goes both ways though, the need to have and take and give from each other.

The only reason Stiles pulls away is to breathe again, something Theo doesn’t seem to think is a requirement. The human moves his hand from the Wolf’s chest to his neck, loosely to keep him in place. There’s a rumbling, almost purring response to the touch.

They are both lazily smirking, their lips still ghosting together as they take a moment to regain the breath they’ve stolen out of each other.

“Terms and conditions apply,” Stiles mumbles.

Theo kisses him again with a smile, so much slower and softer this time. These kisses are a strange mixture of the unsure pecks that they shared as children and the passionate determination they had only a minute ago. It seems so unnatural for the wolf’s personality but feels so natural for them as a unit. How they brush and fit together just right.

A rightness that lights up every nerve in Stiles.

So he’s the one who nearly growls when they’re interrupted.

“Alright, either get a room or cool it you two,” Stiles’ dad says.

Before either the human or Wolf, still tangled together in the entryway, can retort back there's a guttural snarl coming from the other side of the door. Turning the opposite way of the kitchen where most of the pack is gathered, there's a very red-eyed glare dead set on the pair. Derek looks ready to rip them apart. Both from each other and from limb to limb.

If only eyebrows could kill.

“You’re not getting a room, so stop it.” The Alpha says in a near order, going as far as flashing a little glimpse of his teeth at the pair.

Not without a huff of annoyance to showcase his usual defiant nature, Stiles decides to take a step back from Theo. Mostly because it’s his dad that asked first, and truthfully while Stiles is pretty shameless, he’d prefer not to pop a bone in full view of his only surviving parental figure.

Not bothering to even give the pissed-off Alpha Wolf any more of his attention - ever again - Stiles takes the wolf by the hand and leads him to the kitchen table where he picks out the two seats in between Erica and Malia, placing himself next to the coyote and Theo next to the wild wolf. Theo makes a point of pushing his seat as close to Stiles’ as possible ending up with their thighs pressed together.

Erica is no Lydia or Peter, but she certainly isn’t a Scott either. She’s smart in ways that aren’t always textbook or calculated. Her intelligence is more instinctual. It’s what makes her a good wolf. Which is why when she makes eye contact with him over Theo’s shoulder he knows that she can read in between the lines that make up Stiles’ intent. He sees her shoulders relax realizing that Theo is no threat, not now and not to her or Stiles. There’s a bit of pride that swells in him over how far she’s come when she gets that devious glint into her eyes, tell-tale of how much she enjoys having the power, as she drags Theo into a conversation about this weeks protrol schedule.

It’s unsurprising to Stiles to find Lydia eyeing the entire scene critically, attempting to fill in the gaps to the puzzle for herself. She, and most probably Malia from the way keeps side-eyeing Stiles, can tell that this impromptu romance isn’t as surface level as it appears. They can feel the shift in the air.

Peter just watches them with an interested curiosity. Stiles is going to have to inform the older wolf later on that Stiles is switching teams and intends to lure as many of the other Betas as he can with him.

But not the eldest Hale. Stiles needs his ace out of the action altogether, which isn’t that hard to make happen considering that the Beta continuously disappears and reappears as he damn well pleases while always operating just on the cusp of being McCall-Hale pack. Keeping Peter out of the fight should be easy, which is good because the human needs someone who is able to pull Stiles off the table just in case Theo does end up playing him.

He hopes it doesn’t come to that.

Stiles likes the idea of playing with someone else. And if all the kisses are that mind-blowing he’s more than willing to share some of his cards.

Scott, not nearly on the same uptake as the others, is basically vibrating in his seat from how excited he is. “You’re wearing Theo’s gift! And you kissed!” His former best friend sounds thrilled. “Dude, you have no idea how relieved I am that you finally stopped being a dick and gave him a chance. I’m so happy for you both.”

It takes all the willpower Stiles has to not go over and strangle the Alpha. It helps that Theo takes that moment to wrap an arm around his shoulders possessively and keep him settled in his place next to Theo. He resolves himself to just lean further into the wolf’s side, making the claim they now have on each other all the more clear.

Fate will kick Scott in the balls for him, making the reluctant Were’ regret those words one way or another in the near future. Maybe he and Theo will too. Or the whole population of Beacon Hills. Only time will tell.

Stiles, for one, can’t wait to see how it all plays out.